AGN -Chapter 133 Rice Cakes

When Qin Huai and Qu Jing walked into the kitchen together, the worry on Director Qu’s face finally disappeared. As she continued wrapping buns, she secretly glanced at Qu Jing.

Qu Jing wore a mask and gave her a slight smile. The part of her face not covered by the mask barely changed—only her eyes curved a little.

Director Qu instantly understood the smile. Their silent exchange put her completely at ease, and she focused on making buns again.

Out of everyone present, only Qin Huai noticed this subtle interaction. No one else paid any attention.

A staff member next to Director Qu even asked curiously, “Oh? When did Jingjing arrive?”

“Just now,” Director Qu replied. “She heard that Chef Xiao Qin and Chef Xiao Zheng were volunteering here today, and was worried we might be short-handed, so she took a few hours off to come help.”

The staff member smiled. “Among all the kids who grew up here, Jingjing is the most accomplished—and the one who comes back the most. Director Qu, you really raised a good daughter. When she gets married one day, you’ll be sitting in the seat of honor!”

The person joking looked about 35 or 36, only a few years older than Qu Jing—likely unaware of what had happened during her middle school years.

Director Qu’s expression didn’t change. She smiled and replied, “Yes, when Jingjing gets married, maybe I really will sit in the seat of honor.”

While there was laughter and chatter on Director Qu’s side, Qin Huai’s side was relatively quiet.

Only Qin Huai and Zheng Siyuan knew how to make guo’er, so no one else could help. The area around them was practically empty. Aside from the occasional person bringing ingredients, even quiet conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“What time are we heading back?” Zheng Siyuan asked.

“Around five,” Qin Huai replied, glancing at the remaining ingredients. “We’ll go once the guo’er are done.”

Then he paused.

Wait… Zheng Siyuan was working way too fast.

While he was gone, just how many “wows” had the welfare home staff given him? Were they collectively scamming Chef Xiao Zheng?

“Actually… around four,” Qin Huai corrected himself.

“What about those buns…” Zheng Siyuan seemed almost tempted to join in.

“The staff will finish them,” Qin Huai said. “It’s a group activity. Look how happy the kids are.”

Zheng Siyuan said nothing more and kept working.

Just as Qin Huai expected, all the guo’er were finished a little after four. Before leaving, Qin Huai specifically reminded Director Qu again and again that guo’er didn’t last as long as buns. Even in the freezer, they couldn’t be stored for ten days or half a month.

Not to mention their higher cost—freezing them too long would ruin the taste. The best way was to eat them as soon as possible.

Director Qu nodded and led Qin Huai to her office to get the documents.

Qin Huai felt like he had entered and left her office three times today.

“Xiao Qin, Jingjing told you everything, right?” As expected, once inside, Director Qu couldn’t help bringing it up.

“She did.”

“You really… don’t mind?” she asked, looking at him.

“Not at all,” Qin Huai replied honestly.

What was there to mind? Qu Jing wasn’t even human.

Qin Huai thought, as the protagonist with a system, he already had around him a Bifang waiting for death, a stingy Bai, and a self-sacrificing Luan bird—so having another mysterious being with severe self-harm tendencies seemed perfectly reasonable.

What was there he couldn’t accept?

Even Luo Luo, as an ordinary person, had accepted in kindergarten that her brother was a system-bearing protagonist.

Although now she wasn’t so accepting anymore.

“Director Qu, I also grew up in a welfare home,” Qin Huai said. “You can’t expect every child from a welfare home to be completely normal—otherwise, horror movies wouldn’t keep using us as material.”

Director Qu handed him the documents. “I’m really glad Jingjing has a friend like you.”

“About what you said last time—introducing her to someone—I think we should hold off,” she added. “She already has friends she can truly open up to. That’s enough.”

Qin Huai thought maybe he should connect Director Qu with Zheng Da, so they could exchange tips on not pressuring people to marry.

Maybe Zheng Siyuan would be so touched he’d stay and work at the cafeteria for two more years.

“Director Qu,” Qin Huai said, taking the documents, “is there anything Jingjing especially loved to eat since childhood?”

Director Qu was caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. After thinking for a moment, she said, “Does rice cake count?”

Qin Huai was surprised—so Qu Jing really did love rice cakes since she was little. Then what about yam? Had jujube yam cake lost favor?

“When Jingjing was very young—around three or four—one winter we made rice cake soup at the welfare home. She was always well-behaved, so we didn’t pay much attention while feeding her. The rice cakes were cut into small pieces, and she ate by herself with a spoon.”

“She ended up eating too much and had a stomachache. We rushed her to the hospital that night. We thought she’d learn her lesson and stop eating so much rice cake.”

“But a month later, when we made rice cake soup again, she ate a big bowl. Back then, Aunt Zhang—who took care of her—hadn’t retired yet. If she hadn’t noticed, Jingjing would’ve ended up in the hospital again.”

“Later, when Jingjing started school, whenever she did well on exams, we’d make rice cakes. She loved all kinds—osmanthus rice cakes, soup, pan-fried slices—there wasn’t any she didn’t like.”

“I remember she even told me Chef Xiao Qin’s glutinous rice cakes are especially delicious—she’s been eating them almost every night lately.”

Qin Huai left the welfare home thoughtfully, documents in hand.

On the way back, Qin Huai focused on driving while Zheng Siyuan sat in the passenger seat, constantly messaging on his phone—probably chatting with Zheng Da.

“Siyuan, I have a question,” Qin Huai suddenly said.

Zheng Siyuan put down his phone, looking like he had expected this. “You mean the meat filling this afternoon, right?”

“I think you’re right—you perform better at the welfare home than at the cafeteria. Using a large wok with firewood actually makes heat control harder. But your performance today was normal, which shows the welfare home really is your comfort zone.”

It was clear he had prepared this explanation all afternoon.

“…No,” Qin Huai said. “I wanted to ask what you think of my glutinous rice cakes.”

Zheng Siyuan: ?

“They’re… fine,” he said. “I’ve only had them twice. The taste is normal. Why?”

“Do you think there’s a lot of room for improvement?”

Zheng Siyuan thought seriously, then shook his head.

“Glutinous rice cakes are just rice cakes, when you get down to it.”

“My dad told me that ‘glutinous rice’ sounds fancy, but it’s basically just ordinary southern sticky rice. The reason it’s considered a palace dessert is because of rarity—sticky rice isn’t suitable for making rice cakes in the north, so when it’s transported there, it becomes extremely valuable.”

“In the end, there’s not much technical difficulty. Mine might be slightly better than yours just because I make it often at my pastry shop. If you made it every day like I do, you’d reach the same level over time.”

Then Zheng Siyuan made a bold guess:

“Luo Luo wants rice cakes again, right?”

“But… meat-filled rice cakes… isn’t that kind of… not great?”

Qin Huai glanced at him deeply.

He felt Zheng Siyuan had truly been traumatized by the apple-shaped guo’er incident.

Meat-filled rice cakes—and he described them as merely “not great.”

Zheng Siyuan had become far too tolerant.